The morning rang out in a dark silence. I sat, my mind still as a startled deer, counting down from 100 & talking to myself, while my sight tranced out on the starry sky. Tendrils of coffee lifted their aromatic arms through the cold air. My gaze drinking in the Milky Way.
A golden star, thick as a dragon’s tail blazed its luminous body across the cosmic scape. I gasped, watching it sparkle on its course toward the lowest point of the eastern horizon.
My jaw dropped, my eyes following the line of the shooting star straight to the barely-there moon: A gigantic slate spectacle, lined with the slightest glowing red crescent.
When drinking it in fully, nothing competes with the now.
Later, after two hours of shoveling soil, the sun climbed over the pines. Finally, the green house was ready. Sun streamed in through the transparent panes, the heat wafting slight scents of nitrogenous ammonia from the chicken manure compost into my nostrils.
My back, perfectly fatigued from shoveling became a canvas for beading sweat to swivel across; not unlike rivers shimmying across great sprawls of dry earth.
My passive mind, alive with the rhythm of physical labor & the calm of a play-day began to effortlessly concoct creative recipes for things I’d been actively trying for days before, with no avail.
Knowing knows the time to resolve itself & usually it’s when we follow Ludacris’ time-tested advice & “move bish, get out the way”.
So, move I did. Not by trying to, but by simply getting into the humanness of the experience. By feeding myself from the wellspring of sensational perfection that is all around me - always - to feast from, should I care to submerge myself & enjoy.
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